I lingered.
Tracked.
Obsessed.
Like a rabid, unbidden dog circling a fire it knows will burn it alive.
“Stop,” I growled once—out loud, to no one, claws biting into the cold stone of a corridor wall.
But the command meant nothing.
Because it was not I who pursued her.
It was the hunger.
And the hunger does not obey.
My usual donors did nothing to quiet it.
That alone should have terrified me more than it did.
Feeding had always been… controlled chaos. A delicate balance between need and annihilation. The chains, the runes, the layered wards—those were necessary, yes—but the act itself had never failed.
Until now.
The first time I tried after her arrival, I nearly killed the male assigned to me—not because I lost control, but because something inside me rejected him.
His scent was wrong.
His blood?—
Worse.
It tasted like ash.
I tore away before I could do more damage, snarling, shaking, disgusted with myself and the weakness clawing at my control.
The second attempt?
I could not even break skin.
My fangs descended, my body poised for the act—and then?—
Nothing.
My jaw locked.
My hand trembled.
Revulsion surged so violently I staggered back, leaving the female untouched, staring at me with wide, confused eyes.
As if I were the one who had failed.
As if I were the one who did not understand what I was.
Fuck.
This was bad.
